Friday Fables Metacast OneA brief audio update on what's happening with Friday Fables. ... look out for the Spider and the Peacock coming down your feed

The Fable of the Tarsier by Barry J. Northern Why not listen along to the Fable of the Tarsier as you read? Just click the play button below or download the MP3. A tarsier sat upon his branch, chewing on a large cricket he had just caught. A warm jungle breeze rustled the leaves about him, and above, stars twinkled through the forest canopy. He heard approaching footsteps on the branch and swivelled his head, fixing his large eyes upon a brother hurrying towards him. The younger tarsier waved his arms and chirruped. So hurried was Chirrup that Cricket-Catcher did not at first understand his words. “... coming … quick … coming … this big.” Cricket-Catcher smiled around a mouthful of food as he watched Chirrup extend his little arms as wide as his slight frame would allow. “Big, eh?” Chirrup jumped up and down and nodded. “Yes, yes. Big it is. Quick.” “Quick too?” “No, no quick, we must go.” “Where? I've just caught this cricket. I'm not moving.” This sent Chirrup into another frenzy of arm-waving and high-pitching singing. “... coming … big … snake.” This caught Cricket-Catcher's attention. “A snake? A big snake is coming?” Chirrup sighed and deflated. “Yes.” “Relax. Snakes are slow.” Cricket-Catcher spotted a Striped Tree Frog sneaking up the tree's wide bole below him. Finishing off his cricket, his mind already on his next meal, he spoke idly to Chirrup whilst eyeing the frog. “You know, those are clever little things. Tasty though. Worth catching. Can't leap as well as us. I saw one in the morning once, just before going to bed.” “Go! We go now!” “Yeah, yeah. Just a minute. It was pale coloured. You never see them pale like that at night. It's like they change colour to fool us. Argh! A snake!” Cricket-Catcher had never before seen a snake as large as the one that loomed up from the shadows beyond the small frog. “I told you!” cried Chirrup as the pair leapt upwards into the canopy where the branches were thin and the snake could not follow. “I know. But did you see the size of that thing?” A picture is worth a thousand words. The Fable of the Tarsier by Barry J. Northern is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. Hosted by The Internet Archive. Music by Jeff Wahl from the album, Guitarscapes, and provided by magnatune.com

The Fable of the Pigeon by Barry J. Northern A young pigeon, not long out of the nest, squabbled among his fellows around the legs of one of the wingless giants who sat upon the strange wooden bush at this time every day. His father stayed close to him. “Look Fletch, this here giant is dropping bits of giant food already, good as grain that stuff. Oh, he'll fling us his scraps at the end, but you wanna watch out for anything you can get.” His father laughed at the older pigeons at the front of the crowd, fighting for scraps. “Look at em go. That's the way!” “But, Dad?” “Yes, my son?” “Can't I just have grain mash? You've still got crop milk. I like it with a bit of crop milk.” “Look son, I told you already, you're off the milk now. It'll dry up soon anyhow.” “What about Mum?” “She's got your brother to worry about. Look, you're not a squab any more.” His beady red eye darted ahead of a sharp-turned neck. “Look out! He's dropping scraps! Go on, get in there my son.” Fletch, wanting to impress his father, pushed his way in. Everyone said Fletch was big for his age, and he was pleased that he had weight enough to force through the crowd of adults and defend his own patch. There were grains among the fluffy giant-food. He picked at them, they were delicious but few. He tried one of the giant's fluffy grains. “Ergh!” He spat it out. In his moment of disgust he lost his place and was forced to the back of the crowd. “What happened, boy?” “Those fluffy grains are horrible, Dad. There were hardly any proper grains, you know, like the ones you and Mum give me.” “Son, if you live long enough to have squabs of your own, you'll wanna rear em on the best pickings. But you gotta learn to take what you can get now, lad. You're on your own.” And with that he flew into the mêlée and pecked at the floor with gusto. Fletch flew around the green square of woodland for a while, not daring to venture into the giant's cliffs that surrounded it. He searched for good grain, but found little, and after several days he was so hungry that the next time the giant sat upon his wooden bush, Fletch was the first at his feet. “Beggars can't be choosers.” The Fable of the Pigeon by Barry J. Northern is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. Hosted by The Internet Archive, download MP3here. Music by Jeff Wahl from the album, Guitarscapes, track 5 Reality Check, and provided by magnatune.com

The Fable of the Elephant by Barry J. Northern A young elephant trailed behind the herd, trying not to be noticed. She wanted to play with the young ones, as she always had done, but Mother had told her that this year she was old enough to help with mothering duties. The first of the new calves had been born the previous night. It had been a wonderful time, all the women of the herd celebrated, but Kijana now feared she would soon be set to some task or other. The fear of impending duty grew within her until she could no longer bear it. "Mother!" she called out. "I'm just off to the water-hole. I won't be long." Mother turned around, her trunk swaying, ears flapping. "All right, dear." Kijana had expected an argument. It seemed there were some advantages to being a little older, she thought, and stomped off to the water-hole alone. She was still young enough to feel nervous about leaving the herd behind, but felt emboldened when a pair of impala skittered away from her shadow. Now it was Kijana's plan to escape the herd to avoid mothering duties, so she had decided to take the longest route to the furthest water-hole. She would make some excuse about needing a wash, for the water at the local hole was hardly deep enough for that. She chuckled at her own cleverness. At the water-hole, however, she found she really was in need of a bath, for the it was further away than she had realised, and the day was hot. After she had spent a long time washing, which was not one of her favourite duties, the sun had already begun to set, and she could barely see her herd's distant dust-cloud. She knew it was time to return, though she would gladly have rested longer. On the way back she saw a she-lion stalking a herd of zebra. The herd was large, and Kijana feared that the she-lion might decide that a young, lone elephant was easier prey, so Kijana gave the lion, and the herd, a wide berth. The journey back took over half as long again as the journey out, so that when she eventually returned to the herd she was quite out of breath and ready to sleep. "And where have you been all afternoon, young lady?" said Mother, "I wanted you to help with Abla's calf. She needs time to forage you know, she's eating for two now. I explained this to you yesterday, Kijana. That calf of hers is a thirsty one." "I know, Mum," said Kijana. "I just wanted to have a bath." Mother's great grey brow wrinkled. "Well, it's too late to help with anything now. You can help tomorrow." Kijana knew the same trick would not work again, and sighed. "What exactly will I be doing, Mum?" "Don't look so distressed, Kijana," said Mother. "I only want you to play with the pup while Abla's off foraging." She who avoids labour works twice as hard. Elephants are highly social creatures, though it is females who stay together in herds, while the mature bull elephants are mostly solitary. Like human children, elephant calves require constant care for many years as they grow and develop. Unlike most animals, but again like humans and primates, elephant calves are born with few natural instincts, and so need to be taught about the world around them. The whole herd -- often closely related; mothers, daughters, sisters, and aunts -- is responsible for looking after the young calves. Such non-maternal care is known as allomothering, during which young females will also learn parenting skills before becoming mothers themselves. http://www.psychology.stir.ac.uk/staff/plee/documents/AllomotheringAnimBehav.pdf The Fable of the Elephant by Barry J. Northern is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. Hosted by The Internet Archive, download MP3here. Music by Daniel Berkman from the album, Calabashmoon, track 4 Two Rings, and provided by magnatune.com

The Fable of the Swallow by Barry J. Northern A large roost of swallows settled about a tree, whose thinning branches fractured the sunset. One swallow among them stood on a high branch before her brood and proclaimed the end of Summer. "My children. It is time for us to journey towards the Sun, to our wintering grounds." The children became excited, especially one young lad from the first brood who had been dreaming of the wintering grounds ever since an old swallow told him of the burnt fields, teaming with fat flies. More than the promise of a great feast under a strong sun, however, Firstborn desired to make nest and find a wife. He saw a younger brother on a lower branch, and hopped down to say farewell. "I'm going now, brother, for I cannot wait. Will you fly with me?" Secondborn laughed. "No-one may fly as fast as you, brother. But what is the hurry? Will you not roost here tonight and wait for the flock to leave?" "No, I want to be there as soon as possible. I'll make the finest nest you ever saw!" And with a flicker of feathers Firstborn was gone. Secondborn rose with the flock the next morning. He enjoyed the leisurely pace and the nightly roosts. Though he caught his food on the wing and kissed his wavering reflection as he passed over lakes to slake his thirst, he still took the time to look about him at the changing landscape. He had never imagined the world so large, nor so varied. The trees and mountains, sprawling man-nests and glittering seas, all of it swelled his heart through his glistening eyes. Another young bird took to flying with Secondborn, for she too admired the lands over which they travelled. They began to sit together when roosting more and more, and the old ones smiled and sang. Meanwhile, Firstborn flew with relentless speed towards the wintering grounds. He fancied he could see lines in the sky drawing him forwards, and he never doubted his path. He had passed other flocks, and roosted with them on occasion, but so eager was he to reach his destination, he always set off before the rest of the roost were roused by the rising sun. If it were a choice between taking a diversion for more plentiful fields and clearer waters, or a less desirable but shorter path, Firstborn always chose the latter. He reached the wintering grounds days before the rest of his brood. He stopped and looked around him for the first time since beginning his long flight. He felt drained of purpose. The fields were lonely, not at all as he had imagined, and though the food was plentiful, he almost felt too weak to feed. But feed he did, and his strength soon returned, though he had not the energy nor the inclination to build a nest for several days. He had still not begun to built when Secondborn arrived with the flock. The younger brother had already married his sweetheart on the journey, and as the happy pair settled down to make nest, they congratulated Firstborn on his speed, and spoke of all the wonderful sights they had seen on the way, but Firstborn just smiled, for he had seen nothing of which they spoke. "Success is a journey not a destination." The Fable of the Swallow by Barry J. Northern is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. Hosted by The Internet Archive, download MP3here. Music by David Modica from the album, Stillness and Movement, track 2 Fresh Breath, and provided by magnatune.com

The Fable of the Rhino and the Oxpecker by Barry J. Northern One morning, a black rhino looked up from the thorny bush he was stripping with his hooked lips, for he heard the distant rumble of hoofbeats. He squinted against the savannah sun and could see only a cloud of dust with a vaguely darker kernel, for his eyesite was poor. He set his feet to the ground and charged off to meet this new threat, for the bush was good, and the females were nearby. An oxpecker, who had been working at a tick near Rhino's ear, flew up above his head. "Charge, my tick-infested friend, charge well. Don't worry about your wounds, for I will keep them clean for you." Rhino called back. "Thank you little friend. I will be back as soon as I have dealt with my enemy." Rhino charged, and soon shortened the distance between himself and the approaching blur. The hoofbeats grew louder, until soon they were as loud as his own, and the distance closed so that even Rhino could clearly see his enemy -- another male, like himself. He called out to him. "Begone, my enemy. There is no room for you here." Then horns collided, and huge pointed heads glanced across each other forcing the pair eye-to-eye for an instant. Then the energy of their momentum was spent, and then their heavy bodies pounded the hard dirt beneath them in a slow cycle of stand-off and head-butting. The pair fought for several minutes, but Rhino was the largest, and so, before long, his rival backed away. "You are the better beast. Perhaps one day I will match your skill." Then Rhino's enemy turned and fled. Rhino chuckled, but it was only as he ambled back to his bush that he began to feel his injuries. When Rhino returned, Oxpecker was waiting, perched on the thorny bush. "Are you hurt my friend?" he said, and if Rhino's ears hadn't been ringing, he might have heard the hint of hopefulness in Oxpecker's voice. "A little. Nothing really, just a few scratches along my neck." "Oh dear, oh dear," said the bird, fussing over him. "You feast on your bush while I fe-- er, clean your wounds." Rhino bent his head down. "Thank you my friend." As he ate, Rhino insensibly ignored the sharp pains caused by the duplicitous bird's eager 'ministrations' as the Redbilled Oxpecker set about earning his name. "A good enemy is a better person than a false friend." It is commonly held that the symbiotic relationship between the Redbilled Oxpecker and the large mammals of the African plains, such as the Black Rhino, Impala, and Wildebeest, is mutualistic, that is beneficial to both parties. Recent research has shown that the tickbird's behaviour might not reduce the tickload of such animals, and even that it only feeds on engorged ticks to get the food it really wants -- the animal's blood. This is corroborated by observations of the birds drinking and eating from small wounds on the animals, and evidence of them keeping wounds from healing and enlarging them. Such evidence suggests the relationship actuallymay be parasitic, or that perhaps the relationship itself changes to suit environmental factors. Red-billed Oxpeckers : Vampires or Tickbirds? http://beheco.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/reprint/11/2/154 The Fable of the Rhino and the Oxpecker by Barry J. Northern is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.Hosted by The Internet Archive, download MP3here. Music by Jeff Wahl from the album, Guitarscapes, track 5 "Reality Check", and track 11 "Waterfall", and provided by magnatune.com

The Fable of the Rock Ptarmigan by Barry J. Northern High upon a rocky outcrop, a Rock Ptarmigan shed its last white feather and so his thoughts turned to finding a lady. Now Rock Ptarmigan men are proud of their fine feathered feet, and their thick plumage, which changes colour with the seasons, but most of all each is proud of his comb, for it is with the quality of his comb that he attracts a lady. Rock worked his way down the outcrop towards his favourite spring, thankful that winter's touch no longer hardened the puddle from which he drank. As he bent down he regarded his comb's reflection. He thought it too small to impress or intimidate, and sighed, for he derived his greatest pleasure from the praise of others, and without it he knew he would strive for nothing beyond foraging for buds and catkins, and drinking from his favourite spring. As Rock worked his way farther down the outcrop, he met a young man parading in front of a lady. Both were younger than he, and Rock was gratified when the man, taking one look at his comb, immediately stood aside and bowed. “My Lord, I will continue to court this young lady's affections only by your leave.” Rock smiled, and so flattered was he by the earnest young man's concession that he too bowed and said, “I grant you my leave, young sir.” His pride was further bolstered by the favouring look the young lady gave his comb as he passed by, and he also fancied he saw a flicker of disappointment pass across her delicate features. Farther on down the slope, Rock spotted a less refined young man leaping around in front of a group of three women, crying, “Look at my comb, is it not the finest comb you ever saw? My ladies, which of you will be lucky enough to be mine I wonder?” Rock smiled at the ladies' barely concealed laughter. “At least I am not as vain as that immodest youth,” he thought,and fluffed his feathers. Then he laughed at himself, for he was wise enough to realise that the very thought made him, in fact, vain of his own superior modesty. He continued on down the mountainside, confident of finding good fighting and fine ladies to be won, and noted with amusement how his spirits had risen as he'd descended the slope. Indeed, it was a good time of year to be a fine Scottish Rock Ptarmigan. The Fable of the Rock Ptarmigan by Barry J. Northern is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. Hosted by The Internet Archive, download MP3here. Music by Tanya Tomkins and Eric Zivian from the album, Beethoven Piano and Cello Works, track 17 Sonata in D Major op. 102 no. 2 Allegro fugato, and provided by magnatune.com

The Fable of the Honey Bee by Barry J. Northern A honey bee worker emerged from her brood cell and immediately set about cleaning, for her new baby sister would need the nursery soon. The Queen Bee inspected her work. "One has not cleaned it well enough. One must try harder." Princess was mortified, for she only desired to be worthy in her mother's eyes. From then on she vowed to work harder than any other worker bee in the hive. Princess and her sisters were eager to see the outside world and smell the flowers, for the source of nectar and pollen must be wonderous indeed, but it is the way of honey bee workers to attend to many tasks before they are old enough to go out and forage. Firstly, Princess nursed her new larval sister, feeding it her own jelly. She enjoyed watching her sister grow, knowing that her elder sister had done the same for her. Before long it was time to ween the new princess onto honey and pollen, and the flow of jelly turned to one of wax. After that, Princess left the brood cell and worked hard to impress her mother. She and the others used Princess' wax to build the combs and seal new honey within its cells. Some of her sisters became attendants to the Queen. Princess was disappointed to not have been chosen, but she worked hard, and contented herself with dreams of flowers. One day, an old forager came home with a substance from the flowers that Princess had never seen before. She took it in her hands. "It is sticky." "Yes," said the old worker, "we need you to spread it around the hive entrance. It helps keep the hive clean." "Right away!" Princess rushed to the entrance, eager for her first glimpse at the outside world, marvelling at what other amazing things the flowers might provide. When she got to the entrance, her sisters were busy plastering the sticky stuff around, and such was the intensity of their activity, she felt compelled to join them in earnest and did not stop to glance at the bright outside. As Princess worked she became hot, and she noticed the others around her becoming sluggish. A large entrance guard bee came up to her. "The propolis is helping, but we need more water to cool the hive. Go out and fetch some from the leaves outside the entrance." Princess swallowed. "But I've never been outside before." The guard laughed. "There is nothing to it. Just remember to stay away from any stranger bees, for if you pick up their smell my brothers might not let you back in." As Princess walked towards the entrance, she became concerned about the effects of the heat. The mortuary bees could barely lift the dead away from the hive. The feeders struggled to carry honey to the drones in their crops. Worst of all, the fanning bees' wings were flapping too slowly to cool the hive. By the time Princess reached the entrance, her only thought was to collect water, and so on her first foray out into the world, she did not stop to look at the glorious sun in the blue sky, nor at the wide green leaves around the hive, nor the stretches of blue flowers carpeting the floor beneath her. Thence forth, whenever Princess left the hive, first for more water, and as she grew older and flew further, for more pollen and nectar, her thoughts were always bent on the list of tasks she had yet to do. She never once stopped to enjoy the fruit her hard work had wrought. One day, she flew further than ever before, and she began to struggle against the weight of her old body, and feel a creaking in her wings. She landed on a large rose and set about collecting nectar as she had always done. She had heard tell of the beautiful rose, but even so, as soon as her crop was full, she headed straight back. The entrance guard bees waved her through, and when she landed a young princess came and took the nectar and pollen from her. When the worker had emptied Princess' crop she felt no lighter. She tried to move, but she found she could not. A mortuary bee glanced her way a couple of times, and when Princess lay down, she cam

The Fable of the Kangaroo by Barry J. Northern A young Joey peered out of his mother's pouch for the first time. His eyes were wide with wonder as he gazed out into the world, for it was far larger than he had ever imagined nestled in the warmth and safety of the pouch. Out on the plains, some fascinating creatures were jumping around. "What are those, Mummy?" Flyer looked down at her Joey. "Oh, my son, you are out of the pouch. I think you are too small to come out yet. Why don't you go back inside?" "All right, Mummy," said Joey, and settled back down into the warm pouch. The next day, Joey woke up remembering dreams of the open plains and the jumping creatures, and so he poked his head out again. The creatures were real -- he had not imagined them. "What are those, Mummy?" Flyer looked down. "Oh, my son, you are out again." One of those jumping creatures had a small head in its belly. Joey laughed. "They are creatures just like us aren't they?" "Yes dear." One of the other Joeys jumped out of its mother's pouch and sprang about around her in delighted circles. Joey laughed again. "Look, Mummy, the other children are playing. Can I come out too?" "Oh, my son, those children are bigger than you. You are so small. I think you should go back inside." "But why?" "It's not safe, my son." "Why?" "The world is not a safe place." "Why?" "You are too young to understand my son, please go back inside. You can come out when you're older." Joey watched the other children playing around on the plains. It looked like fun, and he couldn't see anything unsafe, but he was a good boy, so he went back inside. The next day Joey woke up remembering dreams of playing with the other children, but he also remembered what his mother had said, so he stayed inside. After a while, though, he heard the sounds of children playing. He peered out. There they were, having fun, jumping around. He watched them for a while. "Mummy?" "Yes, my son?" "The other children don't look bigger to me." "I think you are still too small to go outside, dear." "But I--" "No arguments. You can go out when you're older. It's not safe." Many weeks passed, but still Flyer did not let Joey play with the other children, and she did have a reason. Once, many years ago, she had heard about a pack of dingoes that had snatched a child away. She had never seen a dingo, but she knew they were fearsome creatures, for everyone said so, and she had vowed that she would always protect her children from such foul creatures. One day, Joey looked out and saw the children playing, and without asking his mother, he leapt out and landed on the ground at her feet. Flyer gasped, but then she saw how big her son had grown, and she felt it in the sudden absence of his weight. "Oh, my son, you are quite big now. I think you are old enough to go out. Remember this though. If you see any strange creatures, just jump back to me as fast as you can. All right?" Joey looked up at his mother and smiled. "All right, Mummy." He looked towards the other children, but stayed where he was. "Go on then, my son, off you go." "But, Mummy. Is it safe?" "Yes, my son, it is safe. You are big enough to jump now." "But, Mummy?" "Yes?" "I've never jumped before." Mother was worried, had she kept him inside for too long? She knew in her heart that it was past time for her son to leave the pouch. "Go on, my son. Off you go and play. I won't be far away." Joey took one tentative leap forward and stumbled. He looked back at his mother. "Mummy?" "Go on." Joey jumped forwards, slowly at first, but with increasing confidence as he neared the other children. When he got there, Flyer was upset to see the other children shy away from him, for they did not know who he was. She also saw that her son could not jump as well as the others, for they had been jumping for weeks and their legs were stronger. She watched as Joey's jumps became lower and shorter, and before long he stopped playing altogether and limped back to her. The othe

The Fable of the Magpie by Barry J. Northern There was once a magpie who built a nest for himself and his wife. It was a good nest, and they were happy. In their first two Springs they raised healthy clutches, and were proud each time their children left the nest. Yet Husband was not content. "Will each year be the same as this?" he asked his wife. "Are you not happy then, Husband?" But he only said, "I am, my love," for he did not wish to upset his wife. Later that day, Husband flew abroad searching for something with which to adorn his nest, for it was dull to his eyes, and he wished to improve it. He chanced upon a shiny object, and though he knew not what it was, he admired it, and so flew down to retrieve it in his beak. Back at the nest, his wife looked up at Husband's return. "What have you there, Husband?" He saw his own love for the shiny object reflected in her eyes. "Something to adorn our nest, my love," he said, and worked the object into the walls of their nest. He stood back to admire it, and said. "Now we can truly say our lot is improved." Husband and Wife were pleased with their new decoration, but as time passed they grew accustomed to its beauty until they no longer noticed it. One day, Husband flitted to the edge of the nest, and said to Wife. "I will fly abroad once more and look for something else with which to adorn our nest." Husband soon came back with another shiny object, and for a time it made them both happy. Before long, however, they grew used to it as before, and so Husband once again flew abroad to find something else. This continued until the next Spring, when the urge to make ready their nest for the new clutch came upon Wife. She looked around the nest, and said. "My love, our nest is beautiful, but there is no room for our clutch this year." "Worry not, my wife. What we need is a bigger nest. I will build us one on the other side of the tree." And so Husband spent many days building a new nest, and both he and Wife spent many more days taking their possessions from one to the other, but eventually, after much toil and argument, the new nest was ready. Wife alighted upon the edge of their new home and smiled. "Oh, Husband, it is wonderful." And for a time they were both happy raising their new clutch. It was not long, however, before they grew used to their new home, and so Husband flew abroad again for things with which to adorn it. By the following Spring, the house seemed too small again, and as dull as their first nest had been. As the years went by, no matter how big they built their nests, nor how many shiny objects they adorned it with, the pair were not happy for more than a few days at a time, for they were never content with what they had. The Fable of the Magpie by Barry J. Northern is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. Hosted by The Internet Archive, download MP3here. Music by Eileen Hadidian and Natalie Cox from the album, Dolce Musica - A Contemplative Journey, track 5 "O Pastor Animarum (Arr by Eileen Hadidian)", and provided by magnatune.com Magpies may be more like us than we once imagined: http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2004/09/27/1096137168806.html